The Old Man of Chickamauga
[Virginia-]
“The bastards are going to come into my house; they are going to burn it. Burn my house…no-no-no-n…No, what can I do [?].” Tears appeared in within his eyes, he started to wipe them clean.
“Get out he says –but get out and go where?”—the old man kept walking in circles… mumbling “Jefferson Davis…Lincoln…Montgomery…l861…” he stops, looks out the window, there are troops out their waiting with torches… ”Why my house—ME! I’m an old man I never did them any harm; all I got is this, my farmhouse, my shed, outhouse, no more.”
The old man looks to his far left corner of the window, his outhouse is nothing but wreckage now, the two soldiers tore it down by pulling it with ropes, their gathering up the wood,
“F*ckers…firewood, that’s want they want, easy burning fire wood…so they can keep warm tonight, WWWWWWWWWhat about meeeee….” He hollers out his glassed-in-window.
“Where’s my…my…my son-in-law,” the old man is now trying to get a glimpse behind the wreckage of wood, he spots him, his son-in-law, he is lying dead with a broken neck, he looks like a chicken with his limp neck the old man thinks.
“For what…why…for wood…no…it can’t be,” he cries. “I’ve … if I were-a-young man I’d a-picked out a spot and lay in low —-then, I’d kill yaw all you mother-f-ckn’s—all yaw….”
The Union soldiers standing outside his house then threw the torches on his roof, as it lit the center by the chimney, the roof started to burn outwards.
As the old man walked out of his house the troops stood at ease in a column, rifle barrels slanting toward the ground, a few torches in their hands left. Dust on their tunics; their armpits were black spots of sweat from hours of marching, their faces looked like leather, young faces most of them. A soldier stepped forward, he was an officer.
“Sir,” he said to the old man,” You got to clear out…now!”
The old man could see his boots; they were new, buffed just before he stepped forward with his pants legs and cuffs tailored.
“Baptism in f-fire is that what you you are do ddoooo ing…” stuttered the old man, coughing with a shaking mouth.
Behind the front line of Union Soldiers the Colonel called to the young officer:
“Tell him he has five minutes no more to be out of that house!” adding… with a gesture from his hands telling the troops to move out, “No more, just five minutes.”
The young officer was left with the old man to deal with, and eight Union soldiers to insure the house was completely burnt, and that the old man wouldn’t put it out. That was the mission for the moment.
“We can run in quickly Sir and get something out if you wish…?” said the young officer, to the old man.
The old man just looked, staring, turned around and walked back into the house as the nine Union soldiers to include the young officer, stood watching the roof spread its fiery flames. One soldier kept watch of the rifles, another the horses, while seven men of the squad stood staring at the progression of the flames.
“Yes Sergeant,” said the young officer as the Sergeant approached him to say something,
“Breakfast, the Colonel and the Company is going to have Breakfast…Sir.”
“Yes Sergeant, I imagine so, right down the road is the Battalion, and we will be there in 15-minutes, as soon as the old man comes out with his crap…understood Sergeant!”
“Yes sir…” the sergeant stepped back with the other five soldiers and continued to watch.
“What time is it sarg…” asked one of the four privates waiting with the Sergeant.
“Never you mind private,” said the sergeant.
The shadow of the old man was in the entrance door, as he looked about trying to figure what to take.
“I’m hungry sarg…” said Isaac, one of the four privates standing and watching, said.
“We are all hungry,” said the young officer, overhearing Isaac.
The young officer, Lieutenant Foremost, turn around looked at the men guarding the horses and rifles, he noticed they were becoming unsettled, as were the soldiers right in back of him. The Lieutenant never wanted to be in the war, he had other plans, modest as they may seem to someone else, he was going to be a dentist, –plus, he had plans to marry, Anna, his girlfriend who lived in the Midwest, he had met her while she and her father were visiting in New York City, he himself was a New Yorker.
He had thought the Negro-slavery issue was not his issue, and this solitary, called Unionism –wasn’t sure how all that came into the picture. He had even thought of hiding until the war was over, Mexico looked good, and even Peru was in the picture. He was no rebel though, and so he read in the paper where to meet for joining –willingly– before he was taken by force. He was a Second Lieutenant automatically something of a birthright, or so it seemed, because of his education and father’s military background; whom was also an officer in the Army. Now he was a First Lieutenant, the war would soon make him Captain, the Colonel assured him of that. He wondered often times how his several friends who joined with him were. He hadn’t written any letters to them, nor received any from them.
The farm-house sides were now starting to pick up the flames that originally were on the roof, –the fire was spreading and engulfing the whole structure of the house; all four sides were aflame as if the gates of hell were opened, and the fury of hell was coming out… the old man now could be seen caring some pots, plates, shaving things, pants, he put on a hat, he was picking up some more items off a shelf.
“Sergeant…I mean, Ringo, keep a watch on the men,” the lieutenant started walking closer to the door, the house was now throwing flames out the windows, and along the side of the door—‘…starting to burn out of control, wild,’ he said in his thoughts first, then out loud
he yelled,
“…Old man, what yu-doing…? …get out…hurry!” The Lieutenant was now filling the smoke himself, starting to cover his mouth with his right hand—then stepped back three feet from the stairs that led up and into the house.
◊
As the lieutenant looked over again at the Sergeant, he noticed he was looking over at Private Lucius holding onto the horse’s reigns, it seemed as though he had let go of them…they were daggling, while he patted the horse’s neck. Private Snubs took hold of them all of a sudden. The Lieutenant turned to see where the old man was. The house was becoming a lit lantern; the chimney was looking like it was not attached onto the house anymore.
Said Lucius,
“I’m getting mighty f*cken hungry…!”
“Hush,” said his partner, “…just do it if you’re going to, I’ll back you up, and we can be done with it…”
“Lieutenant, it’s been ten minutes, we’ve got to go,” yelled the Sergeant.
The sergeant shook his head, said in a low voice almost a whisper, “We strip the dead of their ammunition to fight these assholes, how many of us Yankees have they killed at Chickamauga, it was a bloody fight, a nightmare, I was standing by my friend Tom, he was reading a letter, and the…I mean he ended up dead at Chickamauga Creek, and we just sit here looking at this dumb old man, what a f*cken war.”
The tempo of the men in uniform got higher, they all started chatting among one another, the Lieutenant was almost afraid to turn around as he was hearing some of the talk –it was being carried by the wind to his ears, as the perimeter got hotter—, then–about to do an about-face, for the fire was getting hotter, and so was he…as he did start to turn…Lucius had a rifle in his hands, the lieutenant was now frozen like ice, he closed his eyes, the sound of the bullet left Lucius’ mussel, it whistled by his head just grazing his hair. A sigh from his lungs was released, he was alive.
When he opened his eyes, he heard a thump, it was the old man behind him in the door way, he turned his head only, leaving his body facing his soldiers, he swallowed,–pushing air down into his stomach, the old man had fallen dead, his hands full of everything, as well as a rifle held tight against his armpit and leg.
As the lieutenant, shifted his head back into place, he walked to the Sergeant, as Private Lucius came running up, “Sir…he was about to shoot you, I swear,” all the soldiers around him gave gestures of agreement. The lieutenant looked at the farmhouse, it was now completely engulfed with fire and was falling apart at its seams, and the old man was burnt like a roasted pig.
“Let’s eat breakfast men,” said the Lieutenant, “…and then we got to go build a bridge at Owl Creek.”
◊
The lieutenant thought about the old man as he rode off with his men, he never did see his features very well—possible a crocked nose, not sure he told himself, but it wasn’t straight either he added to his ill-faded conversation, mumbling like an unbalanced person. He added to his thoughts: he also had a saggy mouth, not like his own, which was a firm mouth. His forehead was not broad like the Sergeants. He had some dark hair, no, it was white he couldn’t make up his mind… and shifted to simply saying out loud, “I can’t remember.”
“Remember what?” asked the Sergeant.
“Oh nothing Sarg…” he said, and though about the old man’s expressions, saying to himself, they were not kindly, no sir not hardly at all, but expected a heap of consideration from us all, ‘I’m a gentleman’ he whispered to himself [the other soldiers looking at the lieutenant oddly]. They continued to ride down the road, the men watched him to try and figure out what was going on.
Then it seemed like he woke up, looked among his men, seeing they needed confirmation he was all right, and they were not going to be hanged for this misdeed, he said:
“Ignore it all Sergeant, he was trying to kill me like Luc…ius says; maybe even hammer me with that butt of the riffle, he was pretty angry wasn’t he… ill make sure it’s in the report properly”
“Yes sir, he was,” responded the Sergeant.
It was a cool morning, everyone was a little sluggish, you could almost see your breath, and you could from the horses nostrils.
“There’s the camp boys,” said the Lieutenant, “I’m a –fix in to get fed sir, talk to yaw later,” having said that, the Sergeant and the rest of his squad rode ahead to get breakfast.
Dennis Siluk his books can be reviewed at bn.com bn.com and amazon.com amazon.com